


A Beautiful Future Can Rise From The Ashes of Our Past

by Smokeycut



Category: Batman: Mask of The Phantasm, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen, set after Mask of The Phantasm, transgender character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeycut/pseuds/Smokeycut
Summary: One year after Andrea murdered The Joker and left Bruce in the remains of the World Fair, Batman returns to the scene. After meeting a runaway child, Bruce stumbles onto a new case, one which brings him into conflict with Andrea once more. Who is the young girl? And how is she connected to it all?





	A Beautiful Future Can Rise From The Ashes of Our Past

**Author's Note:**

> Just to explain where this sits in DCAU canon, I see Mask of The Phantasm as a separate entity, in terms of timeline. This is a sequel to Phantasm, and so it does not fit into the DCAU. Dick, Tim, the Justice League, etc. do not exist here. More than that, this most likely exists in a version of the 1940s. 
> 
> Hope you like it though! Based on feedback to this chapter, I'll see if I should prioritize it or not. But as a huge fan of both Cassandra Cain and Mask of The Phantasm, I hope that this does alright.

One year later, and the site of the Gotham World Fair was still filled with burnt wood and twisted metal. The ash had been blown away over the passing seasons, but the smell lingered in Batman’s nose. He cast his eyes over the wreckage with a heavy heart. This was the place where he had bid farewell to his greatest enemy, as well as his greatest love.

He could remember it like it had only happened the night before. The hot tears that stung at his eyes, the billowing smoke, and of course… Above all else… Andrea’s final words to him. The crushing water which had enveloped him, and which had saved him from the blast as Andi was torn from him once again. One final time.

It had been one long year since that night, and yet he still held onto her locket. It had a reserved pocket in his utility belt, always. He popped it open with one gloved hand and he regarded her portrait with the same fondness that she had always earned from him. Even though the photograph captured her fiery hair and her peachy skin as dull grays, her beauty was unmistakable. The bounce of her hair and the cutting edge of her jawline were the thing that poets wrote about, he was certain. And even that beauty couldn’t tell the full story. It couldn’t tell someone how fierce she was, how playful and determined and loving. It couldn’t tell you about the casual way in which she spoke to her mother in the graveyard, or how she’d happily toss a man over her shoulder while wearing a summer dress and heels. She was his everything, he knew it then and he still knew it twelve long, lonely months later. She was his one true chance at happiness. Without her, there was nothing worth abandoning his vow.

What he wouldn’t give to turn back the clock. If he could just rewind it all and go back to that night, maybe he could have changed the outcome. Maybe he could have saved Joker’s life. Maybe there could have been a happy ending to it all.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Batman slipped the locket back into his pocket, and placed his hand on top of the golden face of a fallen mechanical man. The first time he had seen the singing statues, back when this place was all shiny and new, he had thought that he was looking at the future. In the end, it was only a pipe dream. Gotham’s people fruitlessly wishing for a brighter tomorrow, where they could live in peace and harmony.

And it had all burned down.

But the Batman wasn’t as alone with his thoughts as he at first believed. No, there was another figure there with him, watching him from afar with a fascination that could never be matched. He spotted the child out of the corner of his eye and silently chided himself for failing to notice them before. 

They were small. Based on stature alone, he’d guess around ten or eleven years old. A mop of greasy black hair obscured most of their face, although a pair of striking brown eyes peered at Batman from behind that veil. At first glance, from the clothing that they wore, he assumed the child was a boy. Not many girls in Gotham wore dirt stained dress shirts with black suspenders and shorts, but upon closer inspection he wasn’t so sure that his first guess was correct.

Batman turned to face them slowly, careful not to startle them. There was still a good twenty feet separating the two, but the child stepped forward, and shortened the gap. Batman followed their lead. They took a step forward, so did he. They took two, he took two. Four for four, and so on, until the gap was only a scant foot of cracked concrete between them.

The child pushed the hair out of their almond shaped eyes and got a better look at him, giving Batman a better look at them in turn. They were certainly androgynous enough that he couldn’t safely assume their gender, but he realized that he had been wrong about the child’s age. They were older than he thought, closer to fourteen or fifteen years of age. With a pang of sadness, Batman noted how skinny they were, and how a malnourished child wouldn’t grow as they ought to.

Batman knelt down and extended his hand, and the child regarded it with suspicion for a moment, before placing their own small hand in his. 

“What are you doing here?” Batman asked gently. This was no place for a child. Not anymore. Any sense of wonder or fun had faded away even before the fire overwhelmed the World Fair.

The child didn’t answer. They just stared up at him blankly, as if they didn’t understand a word that he had said. He watched as their attention moved from his face to the symbol he wore on his chest.

“Are your parents around? Are you lost?” More questions, none of which seemed to register with the kid. “Do you… have a family? What about your name? Can you tell me your name?” Batman asked, still holding out hope. When no response came, he sighed and accepted that he wouldn't be able to elicit any sort of verbal answer. Regardless of what they would or wouldn’t say, a few things were painfully clear.

They were alone, wearing dirty old clothes, and they were cold. All problems that he could help solve, if they would let him. And when he paid closer attention, he realized that they were, in fact, answering his questions. He just had to pay attention.

When he asked about their family, a haunted look flashed across their face before being suppressed. They raised an eyebrow when he asked about their name, as though the concept mystified them.

“You don’t look comfortable in those old clothes, do you? I can buy you something clean to wear, and I can get you some food if you’d like.”

They tugged at the bottom of their shirt and made a face, as though they had just tasted something incredibly sour. And when he mentioned food, their head perked up. A low grumble from their stomach reaffirmed it. Clothes and food it was.

He released their hand and pointed his thumb at the batmobile with a small smile.

When the kid saw it, their eyes lit up like they had just seen the most brilliant display of fireworks. They raced over to the car and pressed their body up against it. They tried to stand up on their toes, but they were still too short to see inside. Batman opened the roof with the tap of a small button, and the child clambered on in without a second thought. They leaned back in the passenger seat and made themself comfortable.

Batman vaulted into the driver’s seat and watched as the child buckled themselves in. As they stared at all the instruments on the dashboard, Batman picked up the car phone and dialed up his home number. After a few rings, a man with a posh English accent answered.

“Sir? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I was just wondering if you’d started making dinner yet,” Batman told him, smiling fondly at the kid.

“I was just about to make a pair of Salisbury steaks. Perhaps some mashed potatoes?” Alfred wondered aloud.

“Make it three. We’re going to have company tonight.”

“Of course, sir.”

The kid grinned, all toothy and eager. Bruce couldn’t help but grin as well.

********************

Bruce Wayne strolled into a department store on Puckett Avenue, leading a child by the hand. Heads stopped and swiveled, keeping a laser focus on the strange sight. 

“What is _he_ doing with some dirty, mangy little brat?” 

“Did he pick that kid up off the _street_?”

“They can’t just let that street urchin in here, can they?”

He shielded the kid from the comments, and paid the barbs no mind himself. He wasn’t there for them or their idea of who and what he ought to be. He was there to help a child who was in need of care and love that they had clearly been denied for far too long. They needed something cleaner, something warmer, than those muddy dress clothes that they were stuck in. They heard the snide comments of course, and while they didn’t understand the words, they could see the contempt on everyone’s faces. Contempt for not only their presence, but their very existence. The only thing that kept the child from casting their eyes downward in shame was the firm, warm hand that held onto theirs, and the confidence that Bruce carried. He smiled down at them, and they gave a weak, unsure smile back. Nobody else’s feelings mattered, they reminded themselves. They weren’t here for those people. They were here with him, and he was there for them. So they didn’t look downwards in shame. They looked up and around the store, allowing their excitement to blossom.

Bruce let them explore, keeping close but not directing them towards anything in particular. He saw the curiosity in their eyes, and he wanted them to choose what they liked best, rather than pushing something on them that would only serve to make them uncomfortable. And after several minutes of wandering, when the stares and rude comments had largely died down, they slowly, hesitantly approached a mannequin. 

It was modeling a soft cotton blue shirt dress, with white stripes and a thin white belt wrapped around the waist. They raised a hand to touch the fabric, but recoiled before they could make contact. They looked to Bruce for reassurance, or perhaps to see if he was upset in their interest in the garment. Instead, they found him smiling softly.

“Is that something you’d like?” he asked, completely and entirely open to the idea. The child nodded, and Bruce’s smile grew. If all he could give them was this one thing, even that would be enough. Just to see them happy, and to help them express themselves how they truly wanted. “Then let’s find one for you to try on.”

It was soft, and light, and far less restricting than the old clothes. When they looked in the changing room mirror, they didn’t see the timid, ugly young boy that stared back at them in the water at the world fair. They saw who they dreamt of being, late at night, under the cover of the stars and whatever blankets they could find on the street. 

She saw a young girl, wearing a pretty blue dress. 

She pushed the hair out of her eyes, and tucked it behind her ears. There were still aspects of her, parts of her body that she hadn’t a clue how to change, but those things didn’t matter as much when she was looking at her reflection like this. Tears welled up in her eyes and she clasped her hands over her mouth, as though that would somehow dam the tears and keep them from running down her cheeks. She stayed in the changing room for what felt like, to her, a blissful eternity. Just watching. Just feeling. Just being herself, as she always wanted to be.

And when she finally opened the door, and came out where Bruce could see her, she found herself waiting for a disapproval that wouldn’t come. He smiled gently at her, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, and his eyes softened.

“Do you like it?” he asked, hopeful.

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his stomach. Tears of joy flowed freely as she nodded into him, and he returned the hug after a moment of surprise. 

“I’m glad,” he said, patting the top of her head as she finally released him from the embrace. “Do you want to shop around some more? There might be a few other things you’d like.”

He folded up her old clothes and placed them in a bag as they checked out. One bag out of many, all of which were filled with clothes that had caught her eye. She seemed to prefer blacks and yellows, but they had at least one article from every hue under the sun by the time they left. There were stares of a different kind as they left the store, but this time she held her head high. It was only after one middle aged woman made a comment that her head flicked to the side in annoyance. She didn’t need to understand the words to know the rudeness in the intent behind them.

The girl turned to face the woman, marched up to her, and snatched the cigarette from her mouth before she could so much as blink. A second later, the cigarette was flicked into the woman’s coat, leaving a spot of ash on it before it fell to the floor. The girl didn’t need their sourness or their dirty looks. Not when she was finally able to show who she truly was, after fourteen years of denial. And the look of shock and dismay when she stood up for herself was rather delicious all on its own.

Once they were outside, and the bags had been stowed in the back seat, she sat down in the passenger seat of his car. Not the large, heavy, black one from before. They had stopped off at a safehouse of his and swapped vehicles before heading to the store, and he had changed into a tan suit and tie. His body language shifted, ever so slightly, when he had made that change. When he wore the costume, he was stiff, and every movement was made with careful consideration. But in the suit, he was loose and airy, with a swagger in his walk that she could tell was practiced. Neither one was the truth, though. She only ever saw his natural behavior when they were alone together, away from where someone might be able to see them. 

She didn’t fully understand just who the man was that had taken her under his wing and showed her kindness that was, up until then, alien to her. She didn’t need to understand. What she saw in his true, natural body language told her everything she needed to know. He had lost so much, and grief threatened to overwhelm him at any moment. Despite that, or maybe because of it, he still held onto kindness and he still tried his best to stand on steady feet. He was a man who was bent, but not yet broken. A man who cared about strangers more than he cared about himself.

They had a lot in common.

********************

Andrea Beaumont took a look around the seedy casino that she found herself in that particular night. Hub City was never a favorite destination of her’s, but when work was offered, she wasn’t going to turn it down just because of where her employer chose to spend their miserable life. She hadn’t yet taken a job from Lincoln March, but she knew that his money was good, even if his business wasn’t. The place was practically a ghost town, with just three men playing poker and one on the slots.

“Hey, girlie. Boss is ready to see you,” a burly, balding man said to her, beckoning her towards March’s office door. He held it open for her, and had the gall to slap her on the ass as she passed him. 

She gripped his hand in her’s and twisted with one quick motion, snapping his wrist and leaving him whimpering as she entered his boss’ room. She never was patient with assholes.

“I’d rather you not rough up my men, but I appreciate the display of your skill, Miss Beaumont,” Lincoln March said. He was seated behind his desk, with his legs propped up on it, and his face shrouded by shadows. The lighting in his room was terrible, if aesthetically interesting. 

“While I’m working, I’d prefer if you call me The Phantasm,” she told him, taking the seat across from him and crossing her legs. “I like to keep my identities separate. Now, who is this friend that you want to introduce me to?”

“Heh. Good way to put it,” March said with a yellow-toothed grin. “I like that. His name’s Cyrus Gold. We go way back, actually. Used to be part of the same gang back in Gotham. This was before I went straight, of course.”

“Of course,” she said with a roll of her eyes. 

“You see, Cyrus was a greedy little sucker. After me, him, and our buddy Roman pulled the heist of a lifetime, Cyrus ran off with all the loot,” March explained as he lit a cigar and stuffed it in between his teeth. “Left the two of us out to dry, and ratted us out to the cops before he split. Once Roman and I got out of jail, we managed to go off on our own and make names for ourselves. Cyrus though, he blew all that cash in a couple of months. But hey, I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. So that’s why I’m hiring you. To say bygone to Cyrus.”

Andrea resisted the urge to slap her employer upside the head and tell him that his play on words was the worst she had ever had the displeasure of hearing. Instead she nodded her head and leaned back in her chair.

“Alright then. I want half of the payment wired to me before the job. The second half comes after. Non negotiable, unless you want to give me all of it right off the bat.”

“The first half is being wired to your account in the Caymans as we speak,” March said. “The next plane to Gotham leaves in two days. I trust that you’ll be on it.”

“Of course I will be,” Andrea assured him as she got up and made her way for the door. She could only stand so much smoke, and she could stand his presence even less. Another man, one with a full head of white hair, held the door open for her. Baldy must have run off to ice his wrist. “I’ll be sure to send Cyrus your regards.”

The white haired man closed the door behind her, and thankfully he seemed to be better behaved than the other guard. Andrea had bigger fish to worry about than creepy security. She had hoped to put Gotham behind her once and for all after she slit Joker’s throat. But with how much March was paying her, her need for a paycheck outweighed her distaste for her hometown. 

She just hoped that she could avoid Bruce while she was visiting.


End file.
